Unsinkable
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: It only took two hours and forty minutes for the ship to sink. Four days before that happened, there were calm nights, a whispering sea, and a boy playing his guitar on the deck.
1. Chapter 1

-Hi, guys! I have some more Minewt for you and I really hope you like it. Now that I have some free time, I finally got around to writing this little fic. I sincerely hope you enjoy it because I know some of you have been waiting a long time for it. :)-

-UNSINKABLE-

-DAY ONE-

It was late, on a lonely ship, and Isaac Newton had never known such silence as this. It was as though the world itself held its breath. He could hear the faint shifting of the waves against the hull, the inner mechanical workings of the ship itself, but other than that, it was black impenetrable silence. The floor was carpeted and made soft noises beneath his shoes. They were shoes of the wealthy, as were his clothes, even if he was wearing only trousers and the most casual shirt he owned.

Father would greatly disapprove, he thought, as he crept down the deserted hallway. Then a smile quirked his lips. Good thing his father wasn't here.

The prestigious and very rich Mitchell Newton had chosen not to accompany his son on another—oh, what did he call it?—"rather stupid picture-taking session at sea." In other terms, he didn't want to watch Newt photograph the famed ship for however long it took to cross the ocean. What a waste of time and energy for a few photographs.

Newt didn't think so, however. Even now, he ran his fingers reverently along the walls, gazed around at their pristine whiteness. This was truly a beautiful ship, a masterpiece. He was lucky he'd gotten a ticket when he did. Now, he was able to do two things he loved: see his overseas relatives after the crossing and photograph the Titanic on his way there. He was bursting with excitement inside to think of their reactions.

Tonight though, wasn't about pictures. Tonight was about exploring. Newt didn't much care for the other members of upper class. They often frowned upon his profession and the fact that he was wasting the money his father gave to him. The Newton's were filthy rich and most of them acted like it, just as snobby and stuck-up as everyone else behind these carven doors. Except for Newt.

Newt would rather do what he wanted without judging eyes on him. So here he was, at some dastardly hour of the night, creeping about the ship. He prayed that no one would wake up and catch him. Upper class or not, that would be a hard thing to explain away without ending up with some unwanted company. Company wasn't something he needed tonight.

Reaching a curious little door, Newt paused. It must've been the end of the hall. Curious, he peered out through the tiny window. To his surprise, he found himself looking out onto a deck. It was moonwashed with silver light and above, he glimpsed a sliver of night sky. Considering it, he tugged down the sleeves of his shirt. It was undoubtedly cold out there...but he wasn't in his pajamas for God's sake...no, still, better not...Oh, maybe just one look...

Bracing himself for the chill, he pulled open the door. A creak sounded from the hinges, making him grimace. Fortunately, nobody was around to hear and no doors swung open to investigate. Breathing out in relief, Newt slipped outside. There was a soft click as he carefully shut the door and leaned back against it. "Oh..." he trailed off, gazing upward, head tipped back on the wood. The sky was a breathing creature, pulsing with brilliant diamonds for stars. Newt fought the urge to reach up, as though he could touch one and pull it down.

"Wow," he breathed. He was just about to venture a step further out, when he heard the most peculiar sound.

Guitar strings being plucked.

Newt dropped his gaze from the sky and looked out across the deck. The sound was beautiful, but in a very simple way. Notes chosen here and there from strings and let loose to fly away like a flock of birds. It was like someone was allowing their fingers to work away at the instrument without a care as to what song was produced. Newt stepped away from the door, intrigued. He was never an instrumental type. It was always very impressive to him when he happened to meet someone with such skill. Wandering out into the night, he searched the ship for the source of the music. There was the rail that ringed the upper deck, curving out near the prow, then some...machinery he didn't have the slightest clue about. Rope. Barrels. Lifeboats tied down.

Then he stopped.

Standing with back against the railing, was a boy. He looked to be no older than Newt himself, though he was taller. Cradled in his hands was a beaten guitar and the strap was snug around his shoulder. His lips held a fond curve to them as he played, much like the curve of the instrument itself. Newt had a silly thought that the two were joined somehow as one being making music. He studied the boy in the few seconds he had before he was noticed. The boy wasn't much: scuffed shoes and pants, a button-down shirt that had seen better days, with a jagged rip at the collar. It didn't take a genius to know that he didn't have much money. But then he glanced up and when his eyes snagged Newt's, they were the color of chocolate.

Newt couldn't look away.

The boy's mouth tilted at the corner. "Enjoying the performance?"

"Um." Ears burning, Newt shifted his feet. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't worry about it," the boy reassured. "Just not used to someone like you coming to watch...well, someone like me." A knowing, teasing glint was in his eyes and Newt wasn't sure he liked it.

"What do you mean, 'someone like me?'" he asked defensively.

"You're one of those rich upper-class ones, aren't you?"

"How would you know?"

"I can spot one a mile away."

"How so?"

The boy arched a brow, taking in Newt's body with a sweep of his eyes. Newt fought the urge to cross his arms. "Please," the boy scoffed. "Too easy." He began pointing at every article of clothing Newt wore, saying, "your shoes are clean enough for a blind man to find them, you probably ironed those pants before you came out here tonight, and let me guess...that's the most casual shirt you own and it still reeks of money."

Newt would've loved to punch him. "So what's your point?" he demanded. "To prove that we 'rich upper-class' are just a bunch of snobs that would rather sleep than listen to you?"

"Stole the words right out of my mouth," the boy replied cheekily.

"Fine. Then I guess this conversation is over." Newt tried for a glare, but it failed miserably when the boy responded with a happy little wave. God, Newt wanted to shove him overboard. "I hope your fingers freeze to the strings," he snapped, before turning away and marching off. The annoyance buzzing inside of him wasn't even fully directed at the boy. It was at the rest of the wealthy on this boat. How could they let themselves make such an awful reputation? Was this really how people saw them, saw Newt? He halted by the door, one hand resting on the handle. Fighting with himself for a moment, he finally glanced back over his shoulder. "I was enjoying it, by the way."

The boy blinked at him in confusion. "What?"

"The performance," Newt reminded him. "We upper-class snobs might not like to recognize talents better than ours but..." He looked away. "I thought your playing was very beautiful." Now, he pulled open the door, ready to crawl back into bed and forget this night altogether.

He was held back by a quiet, "thank you."

Surprised, Newt glanced back again. The boy wasn't looking at him. He kept his gaze on his shoes and his fingers still on the strings. Newt felt a few traces of anger slip away. "You're welcome."

"And, uh..." The boy cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry. About calling you a snob." Humor edged into his voice at the end and he gave an apologetic smile. "I haven't had much luck with people like you."

Newt knew that he had two choices right now. One seemed much safer. He wasn't one for safe choices, however. So he let his hand fall from the door and headed out onto the deck once more. "Please stop calling them people like me," he groaned in despair, tipping his head back. "I'm nothing like them."

The boy snorted. "I find that very hard to believe. Everyone with money is the same in some ways."

"Well, I don't believe that," Newt protested, suddenly irritated again.

"Look at what you're wearing. Right now. In the middle of the night."

Waving an arm at himself, Newt scowled at the boy with sparking blue eyes. "What's wrong with this?"

"I would wear that to dinner at the Queen's wedding," the boy told him pointedly. He set a heel on one of the lower railings behind him for more support, adjusting the guitar in his grip. "And you're wearing it to a nighttime outing on a ship." At Newt's darkening expression, he added, "please don't take offense, though, Mr...uhh..." He twirled a finger, like he would pluck the name out of thin air.

Heaving out a rough breath, Newt stuck his hand out grudgingly. "Isaac Newton. Everybody calls me Newt, though."

"Cute," the boy remarked, ignoring how Newt's eyebrows rose at the comment. Instead, he took Newt's hand in his own and shook. "I'm Minho. Everybody calls me Minho."

Newt narrowed his eyes. "Are you this insufferable with everybody you meet or am I an exception?"

"Such rude words from a gentleman," Minho teased and splayed hand at his chest. "I'm appalled."

"Please. Two minutes ago, you were calling me names and now you're scolding ME for being rude?"

"It was VERY rude, though, Sir Newton."

Newt raised an eyebrow. "We aren't in medieval times," he pointed out.

"So?" Minho asked dumbly.

"So, I'm hardly called 'Sir Newton,' by anyone." Newt's voice failed him at the end, however, and he found himself snickering at Minho. Despite his initial response, Minho was really very fun to talk to. Newt hadn't expected it. He hadn't been expecting to make a new friend so fast on this ship at all, to be honest. It was so large and full of different people he'd never seen before; he hadn't thought he'd have the slightest clue what to say to anybody.

But he and Minho spoke as though they were old friends. Everything came easily and Newt held onto a secret hope that they might even meet again after the night was over.

"Are you traveling to see relatives?" he asked suddenly, curiosity getting the better of him. Minho glanced up in surprise and Newt hurried on, "or something else...?"

"I hardly have any relatives anymore," Minho replied. The touch of lightheartedness remained in his tone, but there was seriousness there as well. "Wars and sickness took them all except my mother, and she's back home."

"I'm sorry," Newt murmured, heart momentarily shadowed. Imagine, losing an entire family to the hardships that had already taken so many. But Minho's lips curved up into a grateful half-smile and Newt's world lightened again. "So, you're looking for work then? Something new? There are only so many reasons one can travel."

Minho laughed then, a bright spark of laughter that was like the lighting of a thousand candles. When he spoke, his voice still rang with it. "I'm traveling for the sake of traveling," he answered, that cocky, smart air about him once more. "What better way to do that than to travel on the famed Titanic, right?"

Newt had to return that brilliant smile. "You have a point, yes."

"What're you here for then?" Minho asked, shifting the guitar in his grip and sending a stray note floating into the air.

"I'm a bit of a photographer," Newt answered sheepishly. Noticing Minho's raised eyebrows, he sighed. "I know; not the grand profession you expected me to have."

A smirk ghosted over Minho's face. "So you're taking pictures here."

"Well, yes, but I'm also going to see some cousins of mine when we land."

"That makes sense then. And here I thought you were traveling in hopes of meeting someone as devilishly handsome as me." Newt lifted his head at that, just in time to catch Minho winking mischievously at him. Despite himself, a hot flush threatened to creep up his neck. There was just—something about Minho that was suddenly captivating, with his jagged hair stirring in the wind and matching the exact shade of black the sky was. Newt found that he had to study the deck at once, clearing his throat.

"Perhaps I was hoping to avoid strangers who spent their nights keeping everyone else awake with their 'performances,'" he joked.

Minho's eyes flickered playfully. "And perhaps I was trying to avoid wealthy photographers who spent THEIR nights poking their noses into other people's business."

"Why, you little—"

"Manners, Isaac," Minho reminded lightly. But he lifted his chin when he said it, taking on the air of the exact kind of upper-class snobbishness Newt recognized on a daily basis.

Newt actually snorted. "You look ridiculous," he sniggered.

"Ah, but I'd fit right in with your friends, wouldn't I?" Minho returned.

"Sadly, yes."

The two shared companionable laughter, together out on the deck. The air was icy with the cold of the sea and the great sounds of the ship slicing through water were all around them. Newt couldn't remember a time when his heart was lighter than it was right now. It was more of a disappointment than he had expected when Minho suddenly glanced down at an old, worn watch and stepped away from the railing. "Oh. I didn't realize how late it was..."

"You have to go?" Newt asked. He was unable to stop how his face fell.

"Cheer up." Playful, Minho leaned an elbow on Newt's shoulder, a half-grin dancing across his lips. "I'm sure we'll see each other again. It's not as though I can walk off this ship anytime I want."

Newt shook his head and marveled at the sudden skittering of his heart. "I'll look for you then, the next time I hear someone complaining about the idiot out playing a guitar on the deck."

Laughing, Minho bumped their shoulders together companionably. "I'm sure you will," he replied. His eyes were soft and still fixed on Newt as he took a step back. "Goodnight, Newt."

Newt lifted a hand in a tiny wave, a strange little feeling stirring inside of him. "Goodnight, Minho."

Then he was left alone with the waves and the sky, wondering how soon he would meet that lovely musician again.


	2. Chapter 2

-Hi everyone! I'm so happy you're looking forward to this fic as much as I am. I'm not even gonna say another word, read this and tell me what you wanna see next :D-

DAY 2-

Sipping wine from shining glasses and watching while a band played some horribly slow music was not how Newt wished he was spending his evening. It might have come as a shock to the well-dressed people around him. He would rather be out, exploring the ship's hidden alcoves and corners. Yet here he was, at another lavish dinner in the upper class quarters of the ship. Expensive food steamed on his plate and a pleasantly light conversation was taking place all around him. He was literally surrounded by luxury.

Yet, he couldn't stop his own distracted thoughts when they wandered to a certain musician. He wondered when he'd have the chance to see Minho again and why he thought of it so often anyway. It wasn't as though he knew much about him, other than why he was here and his name. But he still couldn't deny that inexplicable urge to see him again and listen to that voice full of mischief. He fiddled with the sleeves of his dinner jacket, suddenly self-conscious. But it wasn't as though his company, Mrs. Sonya Silverston and her husband, James could read his thoughts. It was a miracle they noticed anything other than themselves, actually.

"Oh, aren't they marvelous, James?" Sonya asked, bright and cheery as she applauded the band. The clapping of her hands was muffled by the arm-length white gloves she wore and all Newt really heard was the jangling of a crystal bracelet. "I so adore the saxophones; the sounds they make are lovely."

James chuckled at his wife and sent Newt a glance across the table. "I don't know why we bothered to spend all this money on tickets for a boat ride," he joked, "when all she wanted to do was listen to a few saxophones."

"They do sound very nice," Newt offered politely.

"Yes, listen to Isaac," Sonya said, hands flitting up to check her pile of curls atop her head. An intricate silver pin gleamed from the swirls of blonde. "He's a smart one; he knows what he's talking about."

"I hardly think anyone has the slightest clue what they're talking about when it comes to instruments," James put in, dark green eyes flickering in amusement. "Unless they happen to be a musician, of course."

"Oh, you're ruining my fun." Sonya pouted.

Chuckling, James slung his arm across her shoulders and pecked her cheek. "I'm sorry, darling," he murmured. "You're right, they are very lovely."

"Oh, James." She ducked her head bashfully, a light blush on her cheeks. The two were close enough for a stray curl of her hair to brush the soft bronze of his. James's hand lingered on her shoulder, bared by her elegant, red dress.

Newt had to shift his gaze away at the show of affection. It wasn't because he disliked seeing it. As a matter of fact, he didn't mind at all what couples did together. It was just that watching them act flirtatious and so entranced with each other made him feel...alone.

At that moment, there was a bit of a commotion over by the band. It seemed that several of the instrumentalists were packing up, placing trumpets, saxophones, and other things of gleaming brass into waiting cases. As Newt tried to work himself up some kind of appetite for the food in front of him, a tall balding man in a black suit stepped up the microphone. Clearing his throat, he gave it a tap to be sure it was working.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for staying around long enough to listen to our little performance," he said. Then he cracked a smile beneath his grey mustache. "Though no doubt there are a few of you yawning with boredom in the back tables." A mutter of laughter traveled through the crowd and a few husbands nodded in agreement, having been dragged along with their wives. "But I think that you'll find our next performance to be quite...interesting, to say the least. A taste of new and different music to some of you. It certainly was to me." He spread his arms invitingly, his large belly straining just a little at the buttons of his shirt. "So, please, stay for a while longer and enjoy the show."

As a smattering of polite applause followed his words and Sonya whispered, "ooh, I wonder what song he'll play," lazy guitar chords began to fill the air.

Newt very nearly dropped his fork.

A boy was perched on a stool before the microphone, spiky hair black as his suit, and a guitar held in his arms. His fingers moved over the strings as though they were old friends. Newt stared, utterly caught. A single dumb thought passed through his mind: I didn't know Minho could sing. And then Minho sang:

"See the pyramids along the Nile

Watch the sun rise on a tropic isle

But just remember, darling, all the while

You belong to me

See the marketplace in old Algiers

Send me photographs and souvenirs

Just remember when a dream appears

You belong to me..."

Newt's breath left him. As a matter of fact, the entire room was silent. Never had he imagined that someone could have a voice like that, a voice that could be so soft yet still so powerful. There was real emotion in the words, ringing in the still air. Minho's eyes were lowered as he sang, fixed on the vibrating strings of the guitar, and sometimes he closed them altogether. But it didn't matter that Newt couldn't see his eyes, because he knew the feelings were there. They were in everyone in the room.

"I love this song," Sonya murmured across the table, leaning back in James's arms. He hummed in agreement, holding her close. For once, Newt didn't feel lonely when he saw it.

He was too busy watching Minho and letting that voice sink into his veins.

"I'll be so alone without you

Maybe you'll be lonesome too...and blue

Fly the ocean in a silver plane

See the jungle when it's wet with rain

Just remember till you're home again

You belong to me..."

God, his voice was beautiful, Newt thought. He'd forgotten that the rest of the room existed. All there was was Minho's voice, low and smooth and filling up the world. It was frightening, actually. Newt had never been held so still just by the sound of someone's singing, by their presence in a crowded room. If he hadn't known Minho for a mere day, he would've said he was falling head over heels for him at this moment.

He shook his head as though rising out of sleep. No, he shouldn't be thinking such things. He had only talked to Minho once before. That wasn't enough time to fall for someone. Yes, there was...some kind of attraction, Newt didn't deny that much. But it was NOT the beginnings of love. It was much too early for that.

But there's nothing wrong with admitting that I like him, Newt reasoned, because he did. Now, watching Minho strum his guitar with drowsy fingers, he was sure that his feelings toward Minho were...distracting.

It could be assumed that the suit was borrowed, because it outlined Minho's shoulders in a way that suggested it was too small. But it looked good on him, too good for Newt to admit. He sighed at himself, shocked that he was even thinking this here, in front of all of these people. No, he did not have any sort of romantic feelings toward Minho. But, yes, he admitted, Minho was quite handsome and there was nothing at all wrong with noticing that. As long as he didn't act on it.

God, he was in trouble.

"I'll be so alone and without you

Maybe you'll be lonesome too and blue

Fly the ocean in a silver plane

See the jungle when it's wet with rain

But remember, darling, till you're home again

That you belong to me..."

The song ended with a lifting of guitar notes and the last ringing echoes of Minho's voice. The room remained silent for a few more moments. Sonya sighed softly, as though enjoying the sheer calm of it all and James skimmed his hand down her arm in a gesture of affection. But Newt only had eyes for Minho and he watched as at last the musician lifted his eyes from his guitar. It came as a pleasant shock when his gaze found Newt's across the room. Half of a familiar smile tipped up the side of his mouth and he actually winked.

Newt felt a funny tingle along his nerves, but he couldn't say he didn't enjoy it.

Then the crowd was awakened, applause rattling the lamps at the walls, and the plump man with his grey mustache stepped proudly up onto the stage once more. Straightening his jacket, he tipped up his chin grandly. "Thank you, thank you all for such a wonderful evening," he said. "Tomorrow, I assure you, the performances will be just as memorable. I hope to see you all here again. And please, enjoy the rest of your trip on the Titanic."

Sonya nodded in reply to his words. "Oh, I am most certain we will, won't we James?"

Newt didn't hear James's reply. His gaze was following Minho as he gathered up his guitar and set it lovingly into a worn case. Then he'd picked it up and crossed the stage without a second glance, pausing only to raise a hand in a polite wave to a few girls clapping for him. Newt was standing before he could think better of it.

"Newt?" James asked, curious. "What are you doing?"

"I—" Newt glanced at James, then back toward the stage. Minho had reached a side door and was slipping through it. "I think I've forgotten my camera," he lied quickly. "I'm going to try and catch some of the musicians before they leave, if you don't mind." Trying for a casual tone, he flashed a quick smile. "We'll run into each other later, though."

"Of course!" Sonya replied brightly. "Go on, we'll be sure to look for you at the next dinner."

Glad that the excuse had worked, he darted across the room, weaving between tables. He had to mutter a few apologies to people's ankles he hastily stumbled over, but he made it to a side door and hurried outside. A few other musicians headed past him and he had to skid to a halt to avoid being trampled. All carried their cases and talked happily to each other; although there were a few complaints about "that blasted guitarist" being allowed to perform with high-paid professionals. Newt found it absurd that this statement made him happy, just because it meant that Minho was still somewhere nearby.

As if on cue, there he was, placing his case down against a wall and letting out a long sigh. Newt tried to calm the giddy jumps in his heartbeat as Minho shrugged out of his jacket and loosened the collar of his shirt. "God," the guitarist muttered under his breath. "You'd think I was stealing their money while I was at it, the way they're going on..."

Deciding he was tired of just looking at him like a fool, Newt stepped forward from the doorway. "Hi," he said, managing not to stammer sheepishly. "Minho?"

Minho glanced up with a look on his face that hinted he thought Newt was another unhappy musician he'd have to speak to. Then he saw who it was and his eyes lit up. "Newt!" he greeted in return, straightening up from slinging his suit jacket on his guitar case. "Didn't expect to see you so soon."

Something in his tone hinted at a sort-of light flirting. Newt didn't know whether he was comfortable with that or not. "Well, I came for the music," he replied. "I honestly didn't expect to see YOU so soon. I had no idea they'd let you play with them."

"Let me," Minho scoffed with an eye-roll. "Most of them complained about it so much, I was surprised they even had enough air left to play their own instruments."

Newt chuckled, feeling like a child snickering at a school bully with his friend. "It seems they did, though. Everyone loved it. And you too." Minho's head lifted at that, from where he'd been rolling his shirtsleeves up. Newt gave him a warm smile. "Everybody noticed you."

Snorting, Minho glanced down again. "I doubt that."

"No, really," Newt insisted. "The entire room was so quiet, I couldn't hear anything but you. You, um..." Coughing into a hand awkwardly, he continued, "you sing beautifully, by the way."

The way Minho looked at him, as though he was barely holding back a joyful smile, sent Newt's mind spinning into directions he wasn't sure were very acceptable. Especially considering where they were. Not to mention quite a number of laws forbidding a man to have such thoughts about, well, another man.

"That's the second time you've complimented me and my outstanding music," Minho joked, earning himself a despairing groan from Newt. His dark eyes glinted, all play. "Keep it up, and I might start to wonder why you bother being so taken with a ragged, poor musician."

Spluttering, Newt felt his ears burn. "I find it very hard to believe that you think I'm 'taken' with you."

"Oh? You don't hide it very well."

"Minho, I barely know y—"

Suddenly, there were new echoes of voices in the hall, coming from the direction of the door Minho had left earlier. Newt froze mid-sentence, wide eyes meeting Minho's. He wondered why he was acting like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't, when Minho had the same alarmed reaction. Though, granted, that might have been because the voices were angry and saying, "I say, Harold, no professional musician is treated with any sort of respect on this oversized boat! Can you believe that? Letting some nothing up onto that stage with honored performers?"

"Personally, I think the bloke that organized this whole affair is too daft to recognize who he puts on his own stage."

Newt's eyebrows rose. "I don't think they're very happy with you."

"I'm not waiting around to find out," Minho returned, snagging his jacket and guitar case. "C'mon!" he hissed, voice lowered in case the approaching musicians overheard. Then, with no hesitation whatsoever, he grabbed Newt by the arm and hauled him down the hallway. Yelping, Newt tripped over his own feet twice before they reached a door sunken into the wall, creating a tiny alcove. Minho set his case inside first, then ducked around the corner out of sight. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. Taking Newt's hand again, he dragged the blonde into the small space with him.

Newt's shoulder collided with the wall first, because he hadn't expected the alcove to be quite that small. He pushed away from the wall, jerked to a stop when he almost tumbled straight out into the hallway again, and mumbled a curse when he fumbled over his own feet a second time. He brought his hands up to catch himself on something and ended up putting them right on Minho's chest. Instant mortification jolted up his arms. "God," he hissed. "I'm sorry." He tore his hands away, sure that he was flaming red by now.

It only grew worse when he looked up and caught Minho snickering at him, a hand over his delightfully crooked smile. "Relax, Newt," he whispered. "I'm not going to attack you for touching me."

Newt had to look at his shoes. For some reason, Minho talking about Newt touching him made him feel...uncomfortable. "What if they need to go through this door?" he asked pointedly, jerking a thumb at the door right next to them. The two men would have to pass straight between Newt and Minho to reach it.

Minho's gaze flicked toward the hall as the voices approached. "You'll have to take one," he whispered dramatically. "I can't fight them both off on my own."

"You're idiotic, do you realize that?" Newt asked between chuckles.

"I do. But I'm willing to put up with it."

"And why is that?"

"I still somehow attract people just as idiotic as I am." At this, Minho gave a truly brilliant smile. "Like you."

Newt's jaw dropped in mock outrage. "Now, see here, you—"

"Shhh!"

Suddenly, Newt found himself effectively forced into silence by Minho's finger pressing against his lips. He would've fallen over in shock had Minho not taken his hand away a second later. The two of them tucked themselves up against the opposite walls of their hiding place, listening as the voices grew closer. The two men appeared, flitting across the hall and disappearing in an instant. It only took a moment for them to pass the little hiding place and continue on their way, still griping about Minho's performance. Newt stole those tiny seconds to sneak a lingering glance at Minho in the shadow of the alcove. God, but wasn't he something: long legs and broad shoulders, a few buttons undone at his collar. A voice like magic and hair as careless as his smile. Newt swallowed, surprised at himself. Since when did he begin waxing poetry about another man he had only met a day ago?

Minho's eyes snagged his unexpectedly. Stifling a gasp, Newt shot his gaze away, as though searching for anyone else in the empty hall.

As he was busy pretending to play the lookout, he didn't notice the way Minho had to look away too.

-X-X-X-

-If you wanna be in the same lovestruck mood I was in when writing this, go on YouTube and listen to Jo Stafford's version of "You Belong to Me." Minho, of course, just sang it to you in this chapter c:-


	3. Chapter 3

-I'm sorry for such a long wait for this chapter, but I really hope I made it worth it! I'm so excited for this little story and I know you all are too. Send me a review to tell me what you liked or what you're hoping for! And thank you for being such devoted readers, you are all so amazing :)-

-DAY 2, PART 2-

"Minho, I'm not sure I should be here..."

"Nonsense! You're rich, aren't you?"

"Well, I—I suppose."

"So, you should be able to go wherever you want. Is anybody going to stop you?"

"...you have a point, but..."

"But what?"

Newt wasn't entirely sure how to explain. He had been raised as a child in a wealthy family and wealthy families generally did not socialize with poor families. Even speaking a passing word to those of lower class was met with curious glances and a few frowns. That was why Newt was anxious now, being pulled along behind Minho through the lower levels of the ship.

But it was impossible to deny that rush of adrenaline that came with rebellion, even a small one such as this. Newt was in unfamiliar surroundings and no doubt he was about to meet unfamiliar people. But he didn't mind, not when Minho's hand was on his shoulder, guiding him along the dim halls. He hadn't imagined that the Titanic would be this vast, holding so many labyrinthine hallways in its depths. The droning of machinery seemed louder down here and everything appeared dimmer than the luxury of first class.

Newt risked a sideways glance at Minho. "Is this really what it's like for lower class?" he asked.

"Are you surprised?" Minho returned drily. Adjusting his grip on his guitar case, he took his hand from Newt's shoulder to run it over his hair. "We aren't exactly treated like royalty down here while you sip wine out of crystal upstairs."

"I'm sorry," Newt replied automatically, though what he was apologizing for, he didn't know. It wasn't his fault people were treated this way.

"Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But doesn't it bother you?"

"I'm used to it, Newt. I've been living this way for a long time, remember?"

"No, I mean—" Newt halted, which made Minho stop too. They were nearing the end of the hall by now and at the end of it was a little metal door. Beyond it were flickers of light and a hint of music and voices, but Newt was too involved in this conversation to be curious. He looked at Minho in his worn button-down and scuffed shoes, and then at himself, still in a fitted suit. "I mean, does it bother you to be seen with me?" he asked hesitantly. "You want to introduce me to your friends, I understand that, but...aren't they going to want to be rid of me as soon as I walk through the door?"

Minho shook his head, chuckling. "They won't mind. They're lower class, not a different species. They're not that different."

"But we're not the same either," Newt mumbled, and Minho seemed to sober, watching him carefully. Newt was looking anywhere but at Minho. "You and I aren't the same."

There was a long moment of silence. Then Newt jerked slightly when he felt Minho's hands resting on his shoulders. Meeting Minho's gaze, he fought the urge to tremble at their proximity in the lonely hall. "Do you know what I see, when I look at you, Newt?" Minho asked, quiet and measured.

Unable to speak, but not knowing why, Newt shook his head.

"Well, I see someone who thinks the same way I do, who doesn't see upper class as a badge he wears when someone walks by and who cares about me because of ME, and not my status." As though unmoved by the weight of his words, Minho released Newt's shoulders and gave him a little smile. "So, no, I don't think we're all that different."

Newt stood there. Vaguely, his brain registered that when Minho had been that close, he smelled like dark chocolate. "I don't know what to say..." He struggled with the words, because no one had said something so meaningful to him before. Finally, he settled for, "thank you."

Minho stayed there a second longer, smile beginning to fade. It was as though some serious thought or emotion had crossed his mind and he didn't take his eyes off of Newt. It approached a length of time that made Newt fidget uncomfortably, but then Minho shook his head as though coming out of a daze. "Right then, um." Minho toyed with his collar and Newt was foolishly delighted by the sight of a flustered Minho—flustered by HIM. "We should get going, yeah?"

"Yeah," Newt agreed, grateful when he didn't stutter. His nerves jangled worriedly inside of him when Minho took hold of the handle of the door and wrenched it open with a shrieking creak. The sounds of trumpets, clarinets, and people grew louder, washing over Newt like a wave of warm water. Minho bobbed his head invitingly toward the lamplit interior and Newt followed him through the doorway, careful not to bump into his guitar case. As soon as he stepped inside, he was overwhelmed and out of place. There were men and women he had never met before, all of them clustered around wooden tables and exchanging laughing words over drinks.

As Newt trailed after Minho into the cacophony, he noticed a few people flicking glances at him, all focused on the suit that was much more expensive than their dusty dresses and trousers. "Minho," he whispered, practically stretching on tiptoe to mutter into the other boy's ear. "I don't think they like my being here."

"Then we'll make them like you," Minho replied simply. "Don't worry too much, Newt." He raised his eyebrows at Newt over his shoulder. "You tend to do that too often."

"I know," Newt mumbled. "It's how I manage to stay away from awkward situations like this."

"If you think this is awkward," Minho said with a nudge at Newt's arm, "then you're gonna love these guys." He then called out into the noise, weaving between several tables as he did. "Hey! Thomas! Gal! What're you doing, fooling around again?"

Newt, in awe of how effortlessly Minho dodged around gesturing arms and chair legs, struggled to keep up as a voice deeper than Minho's answered: "What's it to you? I thought you were too busy showing off to the rich folk to bother with any of us down here!"

"Aw, Gal, you know I'm not like that!"

"Stop calling me, Gal, you shank—Hey, that's cheating!"

Not paying attention, Newt nearly collided with Minho's back. They had approached one of the small wooden tables near the center of the room. Clustered around it where men and women in worn clothes and boasting wide smiles. The two boys Newt assumed Minho was speaking to were seated at either side, engaged in what appeared to be a very intense arm-wrestling match. Newt looked on in awe; the two were evenly matched, though he couldn't imagine how. The one on the left, with the swept-back black hair, was showing off an impressive set of arms under his rolled-up sleeves. Newt would've pegged him as the winner immediately, but the smaller brunette across from him was holding his own.

"Dammit," the black-haired boy hissed, muscles tight in his arm and his free hand gripping the edge of the table. His green eyes were narrowed in concentration.

"What's wrong, Gally?" Minho taunted. "Losing to Thomas again? This is what, the fifth time now?"

"Min, I swear, if you don't close your mouth, I'm gonna close it for you."

Hands up in a signal of surrender, Minho sent Newt a sideways grin. Newt stood silently, not knowing which struck had struck him speechless: that mischievous grin of Minho's or the use of his apparent, quite adorable nickname.

"Don't worry about him, Minho," the brunette, Thomas put in. "He's just upset that he's about to lose to me." His soft brown eyes were alight with the game, even as he clenched his jaw in concentration.

Gally gasped suddenly, shifting his weight on top of his chair. "Son of a bitch," he bit out. "He's kicking me under the table!"

"It's called finding a way to win," Thomas said helpfully.

"It's cheating!"

"You're such a sore loser."

Crossing his arms, Minho surveyed the scene with interest. "You two aren't going to split up over this, are you?" he asked, and Newt went rigid in shock. "After all, this is my source of entertainment half the time."

"Go jump overboard, Minho," Gally growled, at the same time Newt spluttered out, "split up?" He almost jumped when Gally's sharp emerald eyes jerked over to him and narrowed suspiciously. "Who's— Ow!"

There was a loud bang as Thomas slammed Gally's hand down to the table in triumph. A chorus of whoops and cheers erupted from the spectators, as Gally swore and rubbed his knuckles. "Dammit," he snapped. "I'm getting worse."

"Or I'm getting better," Thomas replied with a wink, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands behind his head. Newt couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw Gally's face turn pink.

"As entertaining as always," Minho congratulated. He nudged Newt in the arm. "See, they aren't that bad."

Newt nodded dumbly, but he was more concerned with what he had just witnessed. Were Thomas and Gally...? No, no that was ridiculous. It was against the law, after all. Minho must've been joking around or something.

Gally sent Thomas a glare as he continued to nurse his hurt hand. "You didn't have to break my damn fingers, you know," he pointed out sourly.

"Aw, I was just fooling around. I didn't realize." Standing up, Thomas rounded the table, with Gally watching warily. Then Newt's jaw dropped as Thomas rested his hands on Gally's shoulders and bent to press his lips to the top of his head. "Sorry, love," he cooed, voice soft and quiet.

"Get away from me," Gally muttered. But he was fighting down a smile and a fierce redness in his ears at the same time. Grinning, Thomas grazed his lips to Gally's ear and whispered something only for him to hear. The smile broke free on Gally's face and he ducked away from the kiss placed just above his jaw.

Holy shit. It was all Newt was capable of thinking. These two men were in an obviously open relationship and nobody was saying a word of protest around them. What kind of place was this? He was about to whisper a question to Minho about it when suddenly, Gally was glaring at him again. "Who's this?" Gally demanded, jerking his chin at Newt as he spoke to Minho. "Are the upper class growing bored up in their castles?"

"Shut it, he's with me," Minho answered. Then, at a raised-eyebrows expression from Gally, his ears turned a light shade of red. "Not in that way, you idiot. He's a friend. His name's Newt." Minho shifted on his feet after that, awkwardness in his motions after the slight misunderstanding.

Of course, Newt then had to wonder if it would have been a normal occurrence for Minho to be here with another man in..."that way." He wrinkled his nose at the idea. Perhaps it was because he as uncomfortable with men violating laws in such a way.

Or perhaps a tiny part inside of him felt a prickle of jealousy at the thought of Minho with another man.

"Oh, don't be silly," he mumbled to himself under his breath. Then he started in embarrassment to realize that Gally and Thomas were looking at him expectantly. "Erm," he tried, standing a little straighter, "yes, I'm, uh, I'm Newt."

"Pleasure to meet you," Thomas replied with another one of his thousand-watt smiles. This boy was just so fun-loving, wasn't he? "I'm Thomas and this is Gally."

Gally turned up his nose distastefully. "You're not going to do anything stupid, like turn us in are you?" he asked.

This was met with a hissed, "Gally!" from Thomas and a flicker of Minho's eyes toward Newt. Newt didn't meet Minho's gaze directly, but he sensed an emotion there, something dark that he hadn't seen before on him. Was Minho...nervous?

"Well, it's a perfectly legitimate question!" Gally argued. "Who knows what kind of posh little mansion he lived in? Probably had his parents teaching him that we're all going to Hell and we're the spawn of Satan. I just want to be prepared for when he drags the police after us later."

Minho bristled. "He wouldn't—"

"You don't actually think that, do you?" Sniffing, Gally shrugged away Thomas' hand when he tried to rest it reassuringly on his shoulder. "I've seen his type before. He'll land us in prison the first chance he gets."

Defiance boiled inside of Newt. He didn't appreciate being spoken about while he was standing right here and anyway, what did Gally know? Yes, this was very much against the law, but Newt wasn't one to turn in people whose worst crimes were falling in love.

And, though he'd never witnessed a couple like this before, he was sure that what he was looking at was love.

Something like that didn't belong in prison or in hell.

"If you find yourself in prison, it'll be your own fault," Newt spoke up suddenly. He recoiled at the flash of anger in Gally's eyes, but summoned his courage to go on. "I won't be the one to turn you in, not for this. I may have lived in a 'posh little mansion,' but I'm not heartless and I won't send two people to prison because they've chosen each other over the law." The steel behind his voice wavered near the end, as he didn't tend to speak to people in a way that wasn't shy or quiet. But he meant it, so he straightened the hem of his suit jacket at the end and gave Gally a look that said, so there, have at it.

Gally's mouth hung open slightly, evidently shocked at having Newt speak with such conviction about this. But Thomas had raised a hand to his mouth to cover a smile and the gratitude in his expression was only for Newt. When he smoothed his fingers down the back of Gally's neck, Gally finally let himself relax in his chair. "Well then," he coughed, clearing his throat. "I'm glad to hear it."

Thomas let out a bark of laughter. "You're not going to apologize?"

"I had every reason to worry about it, so no," Gally quipped. He was then reduced to yelping like a startled girl when Thomas stuck a finger in his ear. "Bloody hell, knock it off, Tom!"

"You only call me 'Tom' when you're trying to sound angry," Thomas teased.

"I'm really going to be angry this time, if you don't stop it!"

Newt caught a snicker to his left and looked to see Minho with a half-grin on his lips. He was startled to be caught looking when Minho's gaze flitted to him, that ghost of a grin still on his mouth. But for a moment, there was a softening in Minho's eyes that had Newt's heart flipping head over heels in his chest. It only intensified when Minho reached out to tug at his sleeve. "C'mon," he said. "I wanna show you something."

"Okay," Newt replied, quiet among the talk and music, but unable to get his voice above a murmur. For unknown reasons, Minho's presence required quiet to fully appreciate at times.

He was growing worse at concealing the treacherous feelings rustling in his chest around this beautiful, charismatic musician.

Especially when Minho guided him away from the noise of Thomas' and Gally's table and to an empty corner of the room. Hefting up his guitar case, he set it with care atop a nearby table and flicked it open. "I've been meaning to play this for you," he began, eagerness unmissable in his hurried motions. "I'm planning on performing it tomorrow at the next dinner, but I wanted someone else's opinion before I did."

Newt's mouth fell open, dumbstruck, as Minho pulled out his instrument without another thought and looped the strap around him. "You're trusting ME before any of the other friends you have here?"

"Well, of course," Minho laughed. "You're my friend, too, aren't you? Or have I been reading you all wrong from the start?"

"Oh—no. You haven't. I would, um, I would very much like to be friends." But Newt knew he was swallowing a lie.

Minho's expression, alight with Newt's answer, made it worth it. "Great. All right, now, just listen and then tell me what you think at the end. I won't play all of it, just a bit..." Fingers roaming about the strings, Minho plucked out a few chords and let them flutter in the air. This close, Newt could appreciate every one without them being drowned out by the other clarinets and saxophones still being played by the band in the room.

As smooth as the waves crashing against the ship outside, Minho sang just for Newt:

"Everybody's looking for that something,

No one ever wants to pay the price.

Everybody's scared of going nowhere,

But we aren't going anywhere tonight.

I should be more cynical and tell myself it's not okay

to feel this good when I'm with you.

Try my best to fight it, say I hate you, but I always stay.

Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do

Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do,

Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do,

Ain't nobody love, ain't nobody love like you do..."

The song dropped off, unfinished, but with a pleasant release of guitar notes. Minho's lips tilted up self-consciously when he noticed Newt gawking at him, transfixed. "That's the beginning of it, anyway," he told Newt, running a loving hand along the neck of the guitar. "It'll sound better once the rest of it's added."

Newt linked his hands in front of him nervously as Minho shrugged out of the guitar strap and set the instrument back into its case. "I thought it was lovely," he confessed. "Did you write it yourself?"

"Yes. Which was why I wanted someone's opinion first before I make a fool of myself in front of an audience."

"You could never," Newt argued. He had to fix his gaze on his feet as he said it. "It'd be stupid to think that you'd make a fool of yourself, when you're so talented and—and extraordinary in everything..." He caught himself, biting his tongue. How had he said that, and to Minho's face?

He could barely look at Minho, sensing the other boy stop with his hands still closing his case. He was inexplicably and suddenly terrified. But he didn't run away when Minho's footsteps scuffed the floor in front of him or when he felt Minho touch his chin and tip his head up. He let it happen with a barely-stifled gasp, as he was coaxed to meet the other boy's eyes. The expression on Minho's face struck him somewhere deep inside. Trembling, he struggled to comprehend how the barest contact of Minho's fingers on his chin was enough to hold him still.

Minho shook his head slightly, releasing a small breath as he studied Newt's face. "I don't think you understand," he murmured.

Newt hated that he sounded as breathless as he did. "Don't understand what?"

"The way you make me want to play music in a way I never have before." Careful, Minho took his hand from Newt's chin and skimmed a fingertip down his cheek; Newt felt woozy and unlike he'd ever felt in his life. "Like you're a song that I've got stuck in my head."

This time Newt made the mistake of watching Minho's mouth as he spoke and the desire to kiss him overwhelmed every other sense. He wanted Minho to touch him the way he touched his guitar. "Minho," he managed, fingers reaching of their own accord to curl in the front of Minho's shirt. "You're not...like anyone..." His voice faltered and then disappeared; because Minho was bending down, Minho was resting their foreheads together, Minho was angling his head and when he breathed, he breathed in Newt, and so close, so close, soclose—

The band struck a sudden, brazen note that had the whole room exploding into sound and dance.

Minho jerked back with a gasp, touch leaving Newt at once. Newt let go of his shirt and struggled to find the air that Minho had stolen from him. His mind reeled. Had they really been about to—? After all the laws and warnings against it? Shaking as though coming out of freezing water, he raised his eyes to Minho's face. When he saw the tangle of feelings there—disappointment, fear, longing—he knew.

There was nothing that could shake him more than Minho Park.

-X-X-X-

-If you'd like to hear THIS acoustic cover of Nobody Love, go on YouTube and search Nobody Love cover, by Gabe Bondoc. It is incredible c:-


	4. Chapter 4

-Hi, beautiful readers! Sorry about the length; this chapter is a little shorter than the others. That's why I decided to make this day another two-part one haha. Well, I'm not gonna say another word, you're just gonna have to read to find out what happens between these two ;). Enjoy-

-DAY 3, PART 1-

Soft soft waves against the hull. The emptiness of a quiet room. Something digging into his back and the dream of someone's kiss.

"...Newt? Newt... Wake up..."

Wrinkling his nose, Newt slowly crept toward wakefulness. Someone was shaking his shoulder. Biting back a yawn, he rubbed a hand over his eyes to rid them of the clouds of sleep. When he finally opened them, the first thing he saw was a dim and abandoned room. There were tables scattered about and a small, raised platform for a stage. The second thing he saw was Minho, with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair. He was sitting in a chair across from Newt's, hand still resting on Newt's shoulder. "You know, for someone who's awfully nervous during the day, you're a deep sleeper," he teased.

He'd fallen asleep down here? Oh god... "Christ," Newt mumbled, burying his face in his hands and dragging his palms down his cheeks. It did nothing to wake him up more and the gloominess of having not slept in his own room deepened when he saw his wrinkled suit. "I don't even remember... When did I fall asleep?"

"Late at night, after Gally tried that atrocious performance with a trumpet." Minho gave a dramatic shudder, before going back to rolling up a shirtsleeve that had slipped down his arm.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked tired. Not to mention scandalized by Thomas and Gal."

"Oh." Face heating, Newt pretended to smooth his hair so that he wouldn't have to meet Minho's eyes. "Well that was rather...surprising."

There was a pause. "...in a bad way or...?"

"No, I meant—" Newt stopped, because he wasn't sure what he meant. Thomas and Gally were against everything he'd been taught before and they could even find themselves imprisoned for what they were doing. Newt had always felt that he'd best stay away from people like them. Yet...last night...

He remembered being so close he could see the golden flecks in Minho's eyes.

Shivering, Newt wrapped his arms around himself as though warding off a chill. "I don't always agree with the law," he confessed, and he sensed Minho's gaze on him. It was an intense feeling, almost physical, and Newt wasn't sure whether he liked it or not. "Especially when it targets people who don't harm anyone, who are just being themselves. It would be like imprisoning you for playing guitar." Realizing the true ridiculousness of it all, Newt laughed, silly with lingering sleep and not focusing on his words. "I mean, what harm are they doing, really? No one is hurt by it and I certainly don't have a problem with it, I mean, half the time these days, I'm too busy trying not to stare at you—"

He didn't even realize he'd slipped up because at that moment, Minho had grasped his chin and dragged their mouths together. Newt's eyes grew wide, astonishment rooting him to the spot, arms still around himself. Minho's lips were softer than Newt had ever dreamed they'd be, in the deepest of his dreams. He smelled wonderful, like chocolate and sin and home. Newt closed his eyes before he could think and, tilting his head slightly, leaned into it. Warmth thrummed inside of him when he heard the tiny sound Minho made in response. There was a single bright moment of color, and heat, and devastation in Newt's heart, but the kind that was a wonderful, aching devastation.

Then he jumped back so hard, he fell off his chair.

"Ow! Shit—!" Newt hissed as he bumped hard against a table leg, his tailbone stinging from hitting the hard floor. Rubbing his head, he stared up at Minho, who was, predictably, laughing.

"Are you, um...are you okay, Newt?" he snickered in between breaths, hand covering half his mouth and a broad smirk.

"F—fine!" Newt snapped, mind still spinning. His lips tingled and there was a gasp of Minho's cologne on him. Dear god, they had just— "You...kissed me!" he stammered incredulously.

Minho blanched. "I..."

"You actually kissed me!" Newt couldn't move past this. His hands were shaking, hell, all of him was shaking. He'd kissed another man. And he'd LIKED it. "God," he managed, covering his eyes with a hand. He couldn't look at Minho.

"Shit, Newt, I'm sorry." He heard the words drag themselves out of Minho as though they were shards of glass, knotted with shame and mortification. His heart constricted. He never wanted to hear Minho sound like that. "I thought—I actually thought you...felt something. I'm stupid, all right, that was completely stupid of me, and I'm so sorry, Newt. Just—" Minho's voice shook and now Newt looked up. He was horrified to see a glimmer of tears in Minho's eyes and the musician swiping a sleeve over his face. "Just don't turn me in, please. You don't know what they'd do to me."

Despite every doubt inside of him, Newt couldn't hold back the dread he felt when he thought of the things that would happen to Minho in prison. The sudden surge of protectiveness that came next surprised him.

Instead of thinking of every law and every disapproval, Newt focused on clambering to his feet. Instead of thinking of his father and his family, he looked down at Minho sitting forlornly and even a little scared. Instead of thinking of the sin, he bent with hands on Minho's shoulders and kissed his forehead as tenderly as he could.

"Newt, you don't have to," Minho whimpered, as Newt's fingers moved to his neck and traced small lines in the skin there. He was trembling, his hands afraid to move in his lap. But he leaned up into Newt's touches as Newt traced his lips down Minho's nose.

"I know," Newt whispered. His fingertips rested beneath Minho's jaw. He could feel Minho's heartbeat racing. "I want to."

The confession hung in the air and it felt like the darkest piece of Newt was there for anyone to see. He scared himself when he thought, good. Let them see. This time, it was Newt who tipped up Minho's chin and pressed their lips together. Hands gripped the small of his back immediately, hauling him forward to stand between Minho's knees. Newt gasped a little, unused to the feel of someone holding him so possessively. He nearly smiled against Minho's mouth. It was exhilarating. Especially when he parted Minho's lips with his own, tasted his kiss, and Minho moaned drunkenly against him. Minho's fingers dropped, then slid up the back of Newt's jacket. His palms fit to Newt's lower back and burned his skin through the thin dress shirt underneath. In return, Newt carded his hands through Minho's hair, making a mess of it the way he'd wanted to since that first night. Newt had the wild thought of straddling Minho's lap, of kissing down his neck and working through the buttons of his shirt.

Then Minho stood up and took Newt by the wrists. Newt gasped raggedly as he was backed up against the table and Minho's mouth met his jaw. "Minho." He whimpered out the name, head dropping back as Minho kissed his way down Newt's throat.

"You drive me mad," Minho mumbled into the crook of his neck, growling at the collar blocking his way.

Newt leaned his cheek against the side of Minho's head, the black hair soft against his skin. Sighing, he closed his eyes. "I've only known you for two days."

"Love at first sight," Minho joked, nipping at Newt's ear and making him giggle.

"There's no such thing."

"You could say the same of an unsinkable ship."

"And if the ship does sink and proves you wrong?"

Chuckling, Minho nosed at Newt's hair. The blonde wrapped his arms around him in delight and pulled him in close. They were against each other from head to toe and Newt now understood how to fully appreciate body heat. His body relaxed as Minho whispered in his ear, "then I'll either swim to shore with you or drown happily in your arms."

"Oh, Minho," Newt chuckled breathlessly. He had never been spoken to in such a tender way before, but he had to admit, he could grow used to this feeling.

If only it weren't illegal.

Saddening, Newt tightened his hold around Minho's shoulders. "What will I tell my family?" he asked in a murmur. Minho stilled against him, but there was a clenching of his fingers in the back of Newt's jacket. "My friends?"

"You don't think they'd understand?" Minho asked cautiously.

Newt snorted, humorless. "My father would save me from jail. But he'd have you hanged." The word tasted sour in his mouth.

"I'll understand if you don't want to let this go any further."

Silently, Newt buried his face in Minho's neck and inhaled once. The wonderful smells of fabric and cologne and skin washed over him all at once, and while he was dizzy with it, he knew the truth. "I'll never be happy with anyone else as long as you walk the earth," he whispered.

-X-X-X-

They walked back to Newt's room together, foolish and stumbling over each other's feet. Newt hadn't imagined that another person's presence could do these things to him, make him stammer or bump shoulders together. Twice, they had to put a reasonable amount of space between them as a person passed by. Three times, they had to remember not to twine their fingers between them. Newt's heart pinwheeled at every close call. How was he supposed to hide something that made him feel like this?

I'll find a way, he thought, if it means I can keep him.

"Well, this is my room," he said, reluctantly stopping to lean back against the door. He met Minho's tired expression, grateful to know that he had stayed with Newt when he fell asleep at that table. Any other person would've surely left.

"I'll let you go here, then." Polite, Minho set his hand on Newt's shoulder, the way close friends might do when parting ways. Newt's body was frozen until the touch left him again.

Nodding in farewell, Newt turned away and fished in his pocket for his key. Once he'd found it, he got it fitted into the lock and was about to open the door, when he felt the most addictive thing: the heat of Minho's body against his back and breath ghosting across his ear. His hands shook and he would've dropped the key if it weren't for Minho placing a steadying hand at his side. "When can I see you again?" Minho asked in a murmur against Newt's neck.

"I'll be—out on the deck later," Newt managed. God, but it was impossible to hold back from pressing himself back against Minho to feel more of his warmth and that strong form against him. He hadn't known how bad he had it for the musician before now.

"Taking pictures?" Minho's mouth curved upward, brushing Newt's ear.

Cheeky, Newt thought, biting his tongue. "Yes."

"I'll look for you." Minho stepped back and Newt could breathe air again. Dear god, if this was what it was to be in love, Newt wasn't going to last another day on this ship with Minho. He risked a shy smile over his shoulder, and was struck with the lightning bolt of Minho's smirk. Backing away with thumbs hanging in his pockets, Minho winked once before finally turning to head back down the hall. Newt, behaving like an idiot, had to watch the lines of Minho's shoulders under his shirt until he couldn't make them out anymore.

Newt faced his door once more and hurried inside with the speed of a desperate man. Once there, he shut it harder than necessary and listened to the reassurance of the lock clicking into place. Exhaling long and low, he rested his shoulder against it and then the side of his head. He was here, at last, on the Titanic, and he was falling in love. With another man.

He could deal with this, surely. There were worse things that could happen.

Weren't there?


	5. Chapter 5

Ok, I have a few things to tell you guys. First of all, thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! They make me so happy every time I see them. Secondly, some bad news. Recently, I've found a lot of inspiration and passion for something else I'd love to write for. That sadly means that some of my inspiration for this fic isn't here anymore. I'm going to leave this fic posted because I might find a way out of this block eventually, but for now, I'm gonna take a bit of a long break from it. I want to apologize to all of you because I know authors shouldn't start things without finishing them, but I'd rather try again later rather than forcing it out now and giving you a crappy ending. So, for now, enjoy this chapter and I'll see about continuing this fic at a later date. :)-

-DAY 3, PART 2-

Newt, after changing into the more casual clothes he owned, which actually resembled Minho's style a bit, raced out to the deck as fast as he could without knocking somebody over in the hall. He was a sight, that was for sure; running about with his camera slung around his neck, squeezing past people with mumbled apologies. Once he'd finally found his way out to the deck, he paused to catch his breath. His fingers wandered up to his camera, holding the heavy item in place and settling into the familiar hold. He had to smile when he surveyed the deck, the wind stirring his hair and bringing the scent of the sea.

Everything was awash in sunlight. The sky overhead showed untainted blue and below, the ocean reflected it back as it whisked past the great ship. Newt ventured closer to the railing ringing the edge of the upper deck. Peering over the side, he watched in wonder as beams of sun glittered from the waves, thrown back up into the sky.

There was a bustle of people out on the decks of the ship this morning. Women in expensive dresses and tailored hats explored the upper decks, where most upper class would gather. A few men in casual, but expensive clothing greeted their wives with promises of visiting some unexplored area of the ship that day. Newt watched them for a few moments. They had no need to hide their love for each other. They didn't even realize how lucky they were.

Glancing away again, Newt busied himself with trying to find something to take a picture of. He'd promised to bring something back to show his family, after all. He didn't want to have dragged this heavy camera up here without getting something in return.

Taking a picture of the ocean felt cliche, but he positioned himself so that when he peered through the lens, he could see the prow of the ship cutting through the water. A few people would be in the picture too, milling about on the lower deck. That would look just fine in a newspaper or a magazine. He took the picture and was about to lift his head again, when he felt someone's hand brush over his shoulder.

"What brings you out onto the deck today, my good sir?" a familiar voice asked, full of play.

A delightful tingle raced down Newt's spine and a wide smile etched itself across his face. Ordering himself to look more presentable in front of other people, he composed himself before he straightened up. Minho, of course, was next to him, and looking smartly handsome in his usual trousers-and-button-down. "Can't you see I'm trying to work?" Newt asked snobbishly.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Minho replied with a little gasp, hand splayed at his chest. "I didn't realize I was interrupting your picture-taking."

"You'd realize more if you weren't spending all your time talking," Newt quipped.

Minho flashed his signature smirk. "Perhaps you should take a few pictures of me," he suggested innocently. Then the innocence melted away when he sidled closer to Newt and added under his breath, "after all, you can't seem to look anywhere else."

"Minho, stop it," Newt almost giggled, turning his face away to hide his blush. "We're in public."

"Oh, yes, I almost forgot." Sighing regretfully, Minho retreated a safe distance away. But those dark eyes never moved off of Newt, making him feel blissfully warm inside. "We'll just have to go somewhere else then, won't we?"

Newt glanced around at the semi-crowded decks. It'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere private on a ship like this. "Where would we go?"

"I hear that Gally's paid our little band downstairs extra to stop by today for a bit of a party," Minho told him. The excitement in the gestures of his hands spoke of his love of music more than he ever could. He offered his arm the way a gentleman would a lady. "Want to join me?"

Chuckling at his antics, Newt fingered the lens of his camera. "I don't know... I'm not much of a dancer, I'm afraid."

"Then I'll have to teach you." This was spoken in a considerably lower tone than before, and when Newt met Minho's gaze, there was an intent there that he hadn't seen before. It made his toes curl in his shoes and his breath catch. Just the idea of dancing, up close to Minho, left him aching for it.

"I... All right," he conceded. One dance couldn't hurt.

Minho's answering smile was sure to make it worth it though. "Then, follow me," he offered, jerking his head toward the depths of the ship.

Gathering up his camera, Newt stayed close behind Minho as they maneuvered through the people wandering about on deck. A few of them cast curious glances toward Minho, as most of the passengers on the upper decks were of, well, upper class. Newt's heart rustled, preparing for Minho to be annoyed. But Minho didn't comment on the looks once and when they reached a door that would lead back to Newt's room, he dropped back to walk beside Newt with a smile.

Newt tilted his head to one side, puzzled. "You don't mind?"

"Mind what?" Minho asked, as they arrived at Newt's room and he fit the key into the lock.

"The way that they look at you." Newt bobbed his head back down the hall, toward the people they'd left out on the deck. "You can see it in their faces; they think you're...no good because you're lower class."

"I've learned to stop caring about what others think of me," Minho replied, resting a shoulder against the wall. "I know I'll never live up to their standards, but that's fine, because it's my life, not theirs." He toed at the floor. "I live the way I choose to and I don't regret it."

Smiling wryly, Newt pushed open his door. "Even if some of your choices could land you in prison?" he asked with a touch of humor. The smile vanished from his face when, after checking both ways down the hall, Minho darted in and pecked his mouth sweetly.

"Yes," he answered in a murmur, nose grazing across Newt's.

Newt hadn't even had time to feel afraid of someone catching them. Bashful, he ducked away with a shy little "oh," and disappeared momentarily into his room to put away his camera. When he emerged back into the hall, Minho was still waiting for him, tall and handsome with raven hair catching the light. Newt had almost been scared that he'd disappear; it was hard to believe that this wasn't a dream, that he was here and falling for a beautiful, talented musician who felt the same way about him. He ached to share this happiness with someone, but there was no one he could share it with but Minho.

Then, as Minho walked with their shoulders touching down the halls of the ship, a memory sparked in Newt's mind. He turned an excited smile on Minho. "Are we going to tell Thomas and Gally?"

"Tell them what?" Minho asked.

"That we're...you know..." Newt toyed with a button of his shirt. "Together."

"I don't see why we have to tell them." Newt, steps nearly faltered, as he couldn't help but be disappointed. Then Minho added in a lowered, suggestive tone, "let's let them figure it out when they see us."

"Oh?" Newt smoothed his hair in an attempt to hide the silly grin on his face. "How are you planning on getting them to do that?"

"Oh, please, Newt, don't doubt me." Minho placed a hand on his chest, as though hurt by Newt's words. "Once they see the way I dance with you, they'll have to know that something's up between us."

Newt once again felt that addictive thrill at the prospect of dancing with Minho. "You're assuming that I can dance," he warned.

"I'm not assuming; you are rich, aren't you?"

"Well...yes."

"Therefore, you have to know how to dance." Minho shrugged with a shoulder. "Classic upper-class behavior."

Newt scowled at him. "How do you know so much about upper class without actually being upper class?"

"You're all very easy to read," Minho answered flippantly. "Especially the ones that fall head over heels for poor guitarists." He emphasized his words with a discreet brush of his hand against Newt's. Newt's skin was instantly electrified.

"I'll have to try harder at hiding my thoughts, then," he replied, slightly breathy with Minho's proximity. "Or we'll be caught for sure."

By the time the two made their way back down to the shabby, lower-class rooms, the band was back in full swing and the floor was awash with people. It didn't make a difference that they were lower in rank than Newt; they still brought out their best dresses, suits, shirts, and ties, and danced with wild abandon that couldn't be found on the wealthy's dance floors. Newt brought a hand to his mouth, concealing a delighted smile, as a clarinetist exchanged a brief grin with the bassist to his right. Lively notes danced along with the people and cheerful talk radiated from every corner.

Newt's nerves hadn't quite settled yet, but this light atmosphere was certainly helping.

"There they are again," Minho remarked, pointing out at the swaying crowd. "I knew Gally couldn't stay mad at him for long."

Newt looked to where Minho was pointing and felt a twinge of warmth inside. "I see what you mean."

Amid the other dancers, Gally grinned roguishly, spinning a laughing Thomas in his arms. The two stayed close enough to touch, and to sneak sweet kisses between songs and let hands wander. They were just chaste enough to be seen in public, but with an air of suggestion in the way their eyes held each other and fingers grasped at clothing. A voice in the back of Newt's mind whispered, that could be you and Minho. It was a thrilling thought.

He was pulled from his mind when Minho cleared his throat pointedly beside him. Glancing over, he stifled a snicker as Minho straightened up dramatically and offered his arm. "May I have this dance?" he asked, polite.

"Why, of course." Newt accepted Minho's arm and let himself be guided out into the people. He was glad he'd worn less expensive clothes today. No strange stares were sent his way and for once, he felt as though he belonged here, among complete strangers. The anxious trembling of his heart calmed the moment Minho slipped an arm around his waist.

"You've never danced with a man before," Minho said, not bothering to phrase it like a question.

Newt shook his head.

"But you've danced with a woman?"

"Yes...?"

"Well then. You play the girl and I'll be your charming dance partner."

Newt sent him a flat look at that, but conceded, resting a hand on Minho's shoulder and letting Minho take the other in his. The song shifted into a slower melody, something Newt had never heard before, but that had a sleepy, waltzy feeling to it. He stepped into the moves at once, having had plenty of practice at family dinners and such. But it didn't feel the same way those dances felt. Those occasions were chaste, respectful, and taken seriously. This was...something else.

There was the press of Minho's hand at his lower back, their chests brushing every other beat, and the softness of Minho's hand in his. Newt danced a pace closer to Minho, close enough to lean in and set his head on Minho's shoulder. He felt Minho tense, then relax, hand sliding up Newt's back. Everything was lulled and muted. Newt closed his eyes and everything around them disappeared into a muffled slow background of noise. He felt nothing but Minho against him and heard nothing but Minho's heartbeat at his ear. If this was how the world vanished when one fell in love, then Newt could live in this blissful in-between forever.

His eyes opened when Minho gently pushed him back, guiding him into a sort of half-spin. Then he pulled him in, back flush to Minho's chest, and Newt dropped his head back onto Minho's shoulder. He didn't bother to hide it. He only cared about Minho breathing, "angel," into his ear and the hands roaming down his waist. Minho smoothed a palm across his stomach, lit fire beneath his skin. Their hips moved together to the music the way waves washed against the hull. Newt gasped softly when hands fell into his front pockets. Minho answered with the smallest whimper at Newt's fingers closing over his to keep him there. That was when Newt angled his chin up and Minho sank to meet him, and they were kissing.

They were kissing, and kissing, and kissing, and Newt refused to worry about need for air. He stretched up into it, on his toes, and reached up to curl a hand around the back of Minho's neck. Minho urged his lips apart and breathed in his gasps with teeth grazing across Newt's lower lip. It was the kind of kiss that should've been saved for behind doors. But neither of them found the need to care, because it was also the kind of kiss that was simply amazing, for it was meant for no one else. Minho's hand left Newt's pocket and cupped his jaw, little finger finding Newt's pulse point. Newt knew his heartbeat was racing and felt the smug curve of Minho's lips against his.

It was everything.

It wasn't enough.

Minho drew away just enough for a gasp of space to appear between them. His breaths were shaky and tickled Newt's lips. He had never longed for another kiss so badly. "Newt," Minho began, caution and some deep emotion tangled up in his voice, "I think I..."

He didn't finish because Newt had angled his head up and pressed a short, searing kiss to his mouth, stealing his words. When it was over, Newt whispered back, "me too."

"Do you want to...?"

"Yes. Anything with you."

"Is there somewhere we can go?"

Newt's mouth quirked. "My room."

"God, you're beautiful," Minho rasped, resting his lips at the bridge of Newt's nose and briefly closing his eyes.

They stumbled through the halls, dizzy with each other and mindless of being caught. Newt didn't remember where one step began and another ended. There was just Minho. Newt hadn't planned on being caught so easily in love, not after a mere three days at sea. But when they collapsed through his door and he heard it shut behind them, he stopped pretending that this was temporary. He couldn't give Minho up now and he didn't think he could in the future either.

This was going to be the end of both of them and they knew it.


End file.
